Return
by Sandy87
Summary: Oh, dear - seems Ratchet and Sasha are having a bit of a tiff. And what's this? Someone's taking advantage of it? Oh, dear, oh, dear. (can you say "drama queen) XD
1. Chapter 1

The beginning of a long tale. Considering the rumors that IG is now making an FPS, I believe it's safe to write a story set after UYA. And, should IG return to R&C and continue (yay! Let's hope so D), this fic will either be an "in-between" or an AU, depending on continuity crisies that may occur.

Title is a WIP; suggestions will be taken into consideration.

Disclaimer: All characters copyright Insomniac.

* * *

"You couldn't hit the Phoenix from two feet away!" 

"You couldn't fly straight if your life depended on it!"

"You couldn't pilot your way out of a paper bag!"

"Oh yeah? Well the only reason you're even captain of this ship is because you're the president's daughter!"

Everything froze. The bridge crew didn't blink. The engines, no longer receiving input commands, hushed. Even the particles of space dust outside the window seemed to grow still. The deafening silence was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Sasha's anger, incited by the biting retort, seemed to electrify the air around her. If said knife had been in the room, it would have made a fine lightning rod.

"Get. Out," she growled, not daring to look at what had caused her so much anger. It was fine he insulted her piloting skills, and before that, her shooting ability. He _was_ a more skilled, experienced pilot and marksman. But no one, _no one_, accused her of riding her father's coattails. "I don't have to deal with you. Get off my ship." She turned and sat in her chair, furiously staring at the screen before it.

When the doors to the bridge _whoosh_ed closed, she relaxed ever so slightly. She could feel the eyes of her fellow bridgemates boring into the back of her chair. She whipped and and snapped irritably, "WHAT?" They all turned and busied themselves with their monitors, not wishing to incur her wrath. Helga wondered if it was 'that time of the month' for her again.

* * *

Ratchet growled to himself, irritated. He wanted something to kick, to punch, to bash with his wrench, to shoot and have blow up. Something, _anything_, to relieve his tension. He stormed to his quarters and turned on the VG9000. Perhaps a few rounds would relieve him. It wasn't quite as satisfying as blowing up an enemy perhaps, but it was certainly less messy - and more convenient. 

His hands shook as they gripped the controller. In the time he'd been adventuring, he'd become quite strong. Before, his hands had been fairly strong - being a full-time mechanic was quite the upper-body workout - but with needing to lift heavy weaponry daily, he was sure his strength had doubled, despite his apparently unchanged physique. In less than a year, he'd gone from Ratchet, Mr. Fixit on the plateau to Ratchet, Intergalactic Hero.

In that time, he'd also gone from Ratchet, confirmed bachelor to Ratchet, Sasha's boyfriend. Sasha...she was so delicate. He felt like he'd break her of he held her too tight, one of the few times he _wasn't_ proud of his increased strength. Of course, that was a simple illusion of size: while she may have have been fine-boned, she was tough as nails. As he'd learned both from observation and experience. He wouldn't admit it, but she came very close to breaking his VR training records. All of them.

And now, she was mad at him. No, worse than that - she was infuriated with him. He'd touched a nerve, a deeply exposed one, and she'd ordered him off the ship - _off the ship_! Not just out of her sight for the next hour while she collected herself, but actually away from her. He growled again; the game was getting the better of him. Those digital enemies were taking advantage of his distraction! They were going to -

_Crack!_ He looked down at the controller in his hands. One side had split from the pressure of his hands. It wasn't broken beyond repair, even a simple strip of duct tape would have fixed it, but it was enough to make him angry. He threw the thing onto the couch beside him and stood up, switching off the console. "Clank! CLANK!"

"Yes?" The robot in question appeared momentarily.

"Let's go. Get to the ship; we're going somewhere."

"Somewhere?" Clank wondered, hurrying to catch up with Ratchet. The Lombax's swift strides belied his annoyance. Something had him in a knot, and apparently, "going somewhere" would cure it. Clank could only surmise it had something to do with someone on board the ship.

Ratchet started the ship, growling to himself the entire time. "You seem...upset. Is something bothering you?"

"Hmph."

"Was one of the Rangers insubordinate, perhaps?"

"No."

"Helga has finally beaten your obstacle course record?"

"No."

"Then Captain Qwark has been taking credit for things you did again?"

"I only wish..."

Clank's robotic eyes widened in shock. If Ratchet would prefer Qwark's one-upman-ship to this, it must have been something awful. "Al defeated you in _Space Invasion 3_ for the sixth time?"

"_No!_ It doesn't...have anything to do with them. Any of them. The Q-Force isn't a part of this."

Silence overcame the small craft again. Clank pondered the question. If the Q-Force and the Rangers were not the source of his foul mood, then what could possibly be? He and Sasha argued sometimes, usually over whose turn it was on the VG9000, but it never put him in a bad mood for very long, certainly not one so deep. But it was possible... "Did you and Sasha have an argument?"

Ratchet's whole body stiffened. His fingers gripped the controls so tightly Clank feared they might snap, though whether it would be Ratchet's fingers or the controls he couldn't say. "Not...really... ...Yes..."

"Ah, so that is what is bothering you. Very well. Perhaps 'going somewhere' will help, after all. The explosive destruction of various objects and lifeforms seems to have a tonic effect on you."

* * *

The sight of the small craft leaving the Phoenix created a blip on the screen of a spaceship parked unobtrusively in a nearby meteor field, though the pilot did not need the radar to know of the exit. The lombax's brightly-colored ship and glowing engines stood out in the dark void of space. Fine, pearlescent teeth gleamed in the faint output screen of the radar. Yes, now was the perfect opportunity... 


	2. Chapter 2

More of the fic! Whee, I get this mess out fast, eh? Well, here's the next part. Still unhappy with the title. It just...doesn't seem to fit...thinks

Slight bit of violence here, nothing too graphic. And if you know who the mysterious woman is, _SHH!!!_ Don't spoil it for everyone else!

To my reviewers:  
WHOCARES? - You get the prize for the first review!  
Black Rosettes - Thanks. I took your advice and kept writing. XD  
rachetlvr - Eh-heh, you may not want to read the rest of the fic, then, LOL. I'm trying to stay at least somewhat canon. ;;;;;  
Missy Mouse - You'll find out eventually. ;-)

Disclaimer: see chapter one.

* * *

_The sight of the small craft leaving the Phoenix created a blip on the screen of a spaceship parked unobtrusively in a nearby meteor field, though the pilot did not need the radar to know of the exit. The lombax's brightly-colored ship and glowing engines stood out in the dark void of space. Fine, pearlescent teeth gleamed in the faint output screen of the radar. Yes, now was the perfect opportunity..._

The ship's engines purred to life, the blue ion trail creating a faint glow behind it. The usual combustion engines with their fuel stored under high pressure were too noisy and inefficient, and made detection all the easier. Other ships also seemed to appear from nowhere; the small meteor field did not seem to contain the hiding spaces for the large number of craft that came from it.

The swam of ships moved towards the larger Phoenix, passing their leader. Each ship, with its thin, tender underbelly, small wings, and weaker-than-average engines was suited to little more than simple cargo carrying, and only disposable cargo at that. Without weapons or a decent shielding system, they would have been easy to hijack or destroy.

The lead ship did not move, however. It was smaller than the ships in its fleet, but its engines more powerfull, and the wings concealed two thin lasers. It was certainly not a combat ship, but it was not helpless, either. However, it did not offer assistance or even radio guidance; the channels between the ships were silent.

The back hatch, detecting a ship, opened easily, not even asking for a pass code. As far as the security systems were concerned, the Tyhrranoids and Dr. Nefarious were a thing of the past. And the Rangers, cowards though they were, provided internal defense. Why waste system energy on unneccessary security?

Of course, this grave mistake would cost the inhabitants dearly, particularly those on the bridge. As the first transport ship crossed the force barrier that kept the vital oxygen inside, an alarm sounded. This was no known ship! The back hatch attempted to close, but the ship wedged itself in the doorway, allowing its kinships to enter at will. Each ship, in a quiet, nonthreatening manner, hovered in over the barier and discharged its contents in succession.

The creatures which dropped from the ships, however, were as alien to the eyes of the rangers as they were to the galaxy. Their faces were nearly birdlike, each glittering eye set beneath a crest of bone covered in whispy hair behind a fierce beak. Their ears were small and triangular, though with the way they were set low and kept pinned to their heads, they were scarcely noticable. Their necks were scarcely such at all, blending into their sloping shoulders without an angle change.

Their arms, thick and muscular, were quite long. One arm rested on the ground, its fingers bent into an ape-like knucklewalk. The other craddled a blaster weapon of sorts, seemingly specially-designed for this strange, alien species. From wrist to ribcage ran a thin, tough membrane, creating a pocket for carrying small objects when the arm was bent. The body and legs themselves were nondescript, save for being muscular and covered in the same murky-gold fur, but the feet were large and somewhat flattened, and the three toes were not only clawed but webbed. Their thick tails drug the ground, slight tufts appearing at the end.

The Rangers, paralized with fear, clustered together in front of the small trasport which lead to the bridge. Although their self-preservation circuits were overly-functional, it was also deeply ingrained in their code to protect the Galactic President and those related or close to him. One Ranger, apparently bolder than the others, gathered himself, stepped forward, and called out to the strange creatures,

"Hey you!" Nearly a hundred pairs of eyes, which had previously been roaming the ship's interior, turned on him with their nearly-emotionless, steely gaze. "Yeah, you guys! You, um, better get out of here, before you, um, get in trouble. Captain Sasha's not happy with uninvited strangers, and she can get pretty nasty!" he said, remembering how cold she'd seemed snapping at Ratchet, and then everyone else, while he had been on bridge duty. He shuddered, if a large, green robot can do such a thing. "You really don't want to make her mad..."

* * *

_BANG!!_ Ratchet staggered slightly from the recoil, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. The small rocket was not especially flashy or powerful, but it _did_ produce a satisfying explosion that even the fireworks of his Rynocerator couldn't match. He wasn't sure why, but he absolutely loved blowing things up. Perhaps it was the fact that his former job had depended on _others_ wrecking their machinery, or perhaps it was the fact that the sights and sounds, the heat of the rocket's ignition and the acrid smell of twisted metal and singed flesh forced him to forget his past and future worries and simply live in the here and now.

"Hey Clank, any more Tyhrranoids around here?"

"Bioscanners indicate all vertibrates within a five kilometer radius have been decimated."

"Okay...how about killer robots?"

"Negative."

"...Mutant plants?"

"Ratchet, we are in a desert. There _are_ no mutant plants."

"Just checking." The lombax put away his weapon and sighed, sitting on a nearby rock that _wasn't_ reduced to rubble or covered in Tyhrranoid splatters. He put his chin in his hands. "So...think Sasha's forgiven me yet?"

Clank detatched himself from his partner's back and walked around in front of him. "I do not see why you do not simply appologise and move on with things."

"What!? Appologise?! Are you insane? Did someone cross your wires or something?"

"I am merely giving you advice. What was it you were arguing about, anyway?"

"It was...we were...I don't remember, actually," Ratchet said, a loopy grin crossing his features. Clank groaned and shook his head. "We were arguing, and then we started insulting each other. I told her she was only the Phoenix's captain because her dad's the Galactic President...and now she probably hates me." He put his head back in his hands and sighed.

"You know as well as I do that Sasha is a highly effective and well-respected millitary leader. I am sure that she knows that as well and understands that your caustic remark was merely made in impetuousness, when your emotions were high and had gotten the better of you. And I know for a fact that she does not hate you."

"You think so?" Ratchet's ears perked up at Clank's words. He wasn't sure how, but the small robot was often times more empathetic than himself, and seemed to know exactly what to say. His trademark grin returned. "C'mon, let's go back to the Phoenix. I think I've caused enough damage to one planet anyway." He laughed.

"Are you planning on appologising then?"

"Appologise? Nah." He grinned and laughed some more; his spirits seemed higher, almost as high as they had been the first time he'd left Veldin. Clank shook his head, although he knew appologising to Sasha was unnescessary. He'd seen the two argue and bicker for nearly an hour and then plop down in front of the VG9000 as if nothing had happened.

* * *

The scene inside the Phoenix's hanger was unimaginable. Even when it had been previously overrun, there had not been much of a scuffle. The frightened Rangers had either teleported out of harm's way or else been destroyed. This time, however, the battle was more even. The creatures were not especially powerful compared to the Rangers, nor were they completely resilliant to attacks, but they were numerous enough to pose a threat. The moment one creature was gone, it seemed, two more took its place.

In the same way, the Rangers poured in from other decks and levels. As the creatures' blasters took them out, another took their place. Bodies, be they twisted lumps of green metal or charred flesh, littered the floor, and oil and blood created a sticky, slippery mess of it all. Even those who had not yet been injured appeared to be, so thick was the carnage that splashed onto them.

Slow, however, ever so slowly, the battle began to turn. To the Rangers, it seemed, for every one of the creatures that was killed or incapacitated, now _four_ more took its place. And for every two of their rank that fell, only one replacement was to be found. Suddenly, it was no longer a battle for the Phoenix; it was a battle for survival.

Their ranks became thinner and thinner; what was once a stalwart barricade was now little more than a tiny wall, a few scrappy robots pressed together, trying at all costs to save their own hides while remaining true to their programming. What was ten became five...three, then two...one. As the last Ranger fell, the lead craft finally settled itself in the hanger, its pilot leaping gingerly from the cockpit.

She - for the curving form of her figure belied her gender - was of an average height for a Solananian, perhaps six or seven feet tall. Her entire body, however, was covered, making it difficult to place anything else about her. Several bejeweled, metal armaments covered various parts of her body - torso, upper arms, thighs, the tops of her boots and gloves, and her shoes. Her head was covered with a hood that clasped at her throat and hung down in back, creating a slight cape. The jewels seemed to have a soft glow to them, much like her eyes behind the dark mask over her face.

One of the creatures approached her, its bulk odd next to her slim frame. "Ahm-mwah!" it croaked, its voice somewhere between a shrill raptor scream and a gutteral growl. She placed her hand on its beak and rubbed its face, not in an especially affectionate manner, but simply as a reward for doing its job. The creature backed away again, and the female continued. She stepped into the small moving compartment leading to the bridge, or what her schematics had said went to the bridge.

She motioned to the creatures, and about a dozen of them joined her. The rest dispersed and began to rummage about the ship, trickling down through the levels. The whole ship was easily overrun without its Rangers; the other defenses were poor and outside to boot. For being one of the largest ships in the Galactic fleet, it was surprisingly understaffed, though that _could_ be attributed to the lives lost fighting...what was his name? Infamous? She couldn't quite remember, something she found unusual for herself and slightly unsettling. She looked behind her at the feet and bellies of her troops; their discoloration was more unsettling than her momentary lapse in memory. She looked at her own feet and discovered that they, too, had a small amount of gore on them. That was just disgusting. While it was hard to tell with her mask, her eyes squinched up and the slight movement of her cheekbones told she was making a rather disgusted face.

Outside the bridge doors, she instructed her creatures to fan out in a formation before it. Walking to a nearby pannel in the wall, she removed it quickly, inserted a small device, and began to type and punch the keypad furiously. The doors opened after a moment, and she smiled behind her mask. The creatures rushed in, quickly incapacitating the larger of the crewmembers. Each was neither knocked unconcious or heavily restrained, and, given the fact that none of them were truely accomplished fighters, the scuffle was fairly short.

Sasha, however, was left alone, left to the female leader of the band of mutants. She had drawn a small blaster, barely enough to fend off a one-eyed Tyhrranoid, and had pointed it at the strange woman. Though her eyes darted about, the barrel remained trained on the taller assailant. She didn't know why, but the woman gave her cold chills, and being smaller didn't help. Perhaps being short was a plus around Ratchet, being that it wasn't awkward to lean against him, to cuddle on his shoulder and kiss him, though normally she wasn't one for emotion, but at the moment, she really, _really_ wished she was more of a normal height.

Or that Ratchet was there. She didn't care he'd been insulting earlier; he was a typical guy, and guys typically made a few insensative remarks every now and then. She could forgive him; she already had. She just wished he were there with her instead of out, then realized that it was her fault he'd left. Her body shook, both from nerves and that realization. "Ratchet..."

"Yes, what about Ratchet?" the female rogue said, her voice smooth and silky. Sasha's eyes widened; how had this intruder heard her? She'd barely even whispered! "Why wasn't he here?" The woman approached slowly, walking down the ramp to the floor of the bridge. Her walk was proud and sultry, not just self-confident. If she hadn't been nearly paralized with terror - not to mention the smell of the creatures nearby - she would have rolled her eyes at the arrogance. The unknown woman looked around. "My, my - Captain Qwark and his entire...was was it again? 'Q-Force'? And you - Captain Sasha, if I'm not mistaken. It seems everyone is here...but the lombax."


	3. Chapter 3

Third chapter.

Reviewers:  
Black Rosettes - I'm trying to keep people in character, so I'm glad you noticed. I think I got your E-mail...Angela fan, right? I'm not much one for managing of a community or whatever (I've already got a fairly large amount of things to do, and college starts in less than a week --), but I'll nosey around your C2 site.  
LoonyLombax - LOL D

_"Yes, what about Ratchet?" the female rogue said, her voice smooth and silky. Sasha's eyes widened; how had this intruder heard her? She'd barely even whispered! "Why wasn't he here?" The woman approached slowly, walking down the ramp to the floor of the bridge. Her walk was proud and sultry, not just self-confident. If she hadn't been nearly paralized with terror - not to mention the smell of the creatures nearby - Sasha would have rolled her eyes at the arrogance. The unknown woman looked around. "My, my - Captain Qwark and his entire...was was it again? 'Q-Force'? And you - Captain Sasha, if I'm not mistaken. It seems everyone is here...but the lombax."_

Sasha stiffened, but kept her small gun pointed at the female. It wasn't a very effective weapon, of course, barely large enough to deter a small Tyhrranoid, but it _was_ an effective threat. Not a large one, but most people and creatures with _any_ sort of sense at least backed away when a gun was trained on them. Not this woman. She advanced slowly until she was barely a foot from the end of the barrel. "Restrain her."

Two of the creatures who weren't busy holding other bridge members turned on her. One reached its clawwed hand to her. She turned, fired. The thin laser emitted from the gun singed its hide. "Hwaaarr!" The smell of burned flesh and hair was enough to make anyone faint, but Sasha steadied herself. The creature lunged and closed its hard beak over the gun, snapping it. She yanked her hand away before the bones were crushed and held it against her stomach, rubbing the soreness.

"Now, now, I said _restrain_ her, not incapacitate her," the female chided, wagging a finger at the creature. It snorted and grabbed Sasha's arms. The other glowered at her threateningly. The rogue turned to her other creatures and gestured to the Q-Force. "Lock them up somewhere; I don't have a use for them." The large brutes picked up the members and shuffled out. "As for you..."

"Get. Your. Filthy. Claws. Off me!" Sasha said, struggling against the beast. The smell was beginning to get to her. They smelled of Tyhrranoids, one of the few things she was phobic of. The thing growled and snapped its beak near her ear, creating a surprisingly loud _pop!_ - at least enough to startle her into freezing. The strange woman took another step closer and leaned over so she was nearly nose-to-nose with her.

"Where's Ratchet?"

Sasha's eyes flickered. "Not here."

"Yes, I can see that. If Ratchet were here, he would have met my forces when they entered. Since he did not, he must not be here. But where is he?"

"He left."

"To...?" the female leaned closer, her eyes narrowed in annoyance. The size difference between the two of them was obvious. Sasha's eyes flickered again.

"I don't know..." she murmered.

"Don't know? _Don't know?_ But aren't you his..." she hesitated, then spat, "...girlfriend? Doesn't he tell you _everything_?" Sasha blinked, nervous, and shook her head. The female backed away and turned from her, muttering, "Just as well. He's too good for you anyway."

"WHAT?" The temporary stupor was suddenly gone, and she writhed in the creature's hands, growling in indignation.

"I said he's too good for you," the female purred, sensing she'd hit a nerve. "I mean, just look at yourself. What could he possibly see in you?" She waved her hand dismissively. "You two, lock her up somewhere. I don't care - a storage closet or something. Just shut her up. She annoys me."

Sasha planted her feet; she didn't plan on going anywhere. But, when you barely break five five and a hundred ten pounds and are unarmed, you usually don't have a whole lot of say in what two large, mutant beasts do with you. The one holding her simply picked her up, slung her roughly around what passed for its neck and shoulders, and began walking, ignoring her squirming and attempts at kicking it in the head.

The female rogue sighed and rubbed her temples. The girl really was a pain; she had given her a headache in less than five minutes. Her temper - she didn't really seem to be so hotheaded in and of herself, but she seemed to be particularly touchy about the subject of Ratchet. Perhaps she sensed her jealousy of them, or perhaps...perhaps there was something wrong between them! Well, if that was the case, then so much the better for her.

* * *

Ratchet yawned and placed his feet up on the controls of his fighter, lacing his fingers behind his head lazily. Clank looked at him and shook his head. He had long since learned to tollerate the lombax's antics. "Shall I radio the Phoenix of our return?"

"Nah. Let's surprise Sasha."

"Ratchet, I do not feel it would be wise to 'surprise' her, given the circumstances. She may still be upset with you."

"Aw, lighten up, Clank. It's not like she'd kill us or anything."

"True. Murder does seem to be beneith her." Ratchet rolled his eyes. "But still, would it not be wise to bring a peace offering?"

Ratchet sat up. "Peace offering?"

"You know, flowers, candy, some small token -"

"Clank, this is _Sasha_ we're talking about," Ratchet cut in. "I don't think she'd go for the flower thing. She'd be more likely to want a vidcomic, and I'm not sure where the closest game stores are. I had to mail-order my last three; you know how those guys are!"

"Yes, I do. You were jumping up at every sound for the next four days each time." The robot moved his head and occular coverings in such a way as to suggest he rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine, do as you wish. But I will not reattatch any dismembered body parts."

"You may be doing more than minor surgery, Clank," Ratchet said, his eyes widening as he came around the rear of the Phoenix. The ship jammed in the doorway and the odd, shimmering stains on the floor told of a hard-fought battle. Easing himself in between the two slices of metal, careful not to scrape himself, he landed on the floor. "It looks like whoever was here...isn't."

Clank squinted and lookd around. "No...bioscanners indicate several large organic lifeforms on lower decks. They are not _here_, per se, but they are still on board."

"Any sign of Sasha?" he asked, worried, then quickly added, "Or anyone else?"

"Scanners indicate two small, one medium, and two large organic lifeforms, as well as one robotic lifeform, of alied persuasion."

"And those lifeforms would be...?"

"Ratchet, if you cannot smell that your own girlfriend's blood is not intermingled with this...mess...then the rumors of lombaxes having a superior olefactory system must be unfounded."

"Yeah, well, this stuff kinda stinks...it's not like I could smell too much of anything else." He put a hand over his nose and grimaced. "Besides, how would I know what her blood smelled like? It's not like I've bitten her...her biting me, on the other hand..." He reached up and rubbed his ear in memory. "Nice little reminder she's got fangs..."

Clank giggled, amused. "Well, it appears our friends are approximately a deck below us, in that direction." He pointed and added, "There do not appear to be too many of the unknown creatures in the way. It should not be difficult to get to them."

"All right then, come on." He took out his Tempest, intending to create as small and odorless a mess as possible.

The creatures themselves, actually, did not offer him a whole lot of resistance. Due to their constant prowling - most likely for food - he only encountered five of the brutes. And even when he did run in to one, it was alone and paused for a moment to blink and cock its head at him. It was as if it mistook him for a familiar face, although his resemblance to one of them was only vague.

Their fur was yellow, yes, but stripeless, and rather than being a rich gold, it was a mucky, muddly, discolored yellow, the color of swamp slime. Their hands and feet were large, but they had only three fingers, the number of an ordinary creature, though their fingers had two sets of claws to each digit, giving them five with which to shred and tear. Ratchet himself could have easily stood under the creature's chin and not tickled it with his ears. And, though their tail was probably as long as his and showed the scruffy beginnings of a tufted tip, it was considerably thicker and less mobile.

Each creature was quickly dispatched, leaving a carcass that smelled slightly like roasted meat and heavily like singed fur. The electricity was bloodless, true, and prevented foul-smelling bowels from being spilled on the floor, but it did create a distinctive odor, emphasis on the stink. The smell reminded Ratchet of his run-ins with Telsabots while fighting Drek, minus the pain.

"Here, this door," Clank said as they passed one of the many in the hallway.

"You sure? I mean, it's the janitor's closet..."

"If I am wrong, I will happily swallow my own words and allow you to tease me mercilessly."

"Fine, fine," the lombax muttered, pushing the door switch. "What harm can it do?"

Five pairs of eyes blinked owlishly in the light. "Ratchet! Eet's about time you got here, ya? Ve've been having to light the monkey's _blähung_ vith sparks from ze computer viz's spark plugs to see!"

"Excuse me, um, Helga, it's really a small blow torch," Al said nervously.

"Vell den, ve've been lighting monkey _blähung_ vith a 'schmall blovv torch'!" she snapped.

"I guess you guys are all okay then?"

"Oh, ya, ya, ve're fine. Except for Meester Hero over dere." She indicated Qwark, curled in a fetal possition mumbling about bright suns and candles.

Ratchet looked around. "Where's Sasha?"

"The captain lady?" Skidd piped up. "She's catchin' some Zs on a bunch of boxes in the back. Talks about you sometimes." He grinned at him. "Never says much, though."

When he squinted, he could just make out her form on top of a pile of what looked to be spare part boxes, her head on a sack of undisclosed contents. He walked over and squatted slightly, shaking her shoulder and resting his chin on her cheek. "Sasha? Sasha?"

"Mn...what?" She opened her eyes, a confused, sleepy look on her face. Due to the angle, she couldn't quite see Ratchet but out of the corner of her eye, and only as a shadow. She froze. Was one of those...things...cuddling up to her?

No, no...the smell from it was warm, comforting, not hot and sticky and suffocating. The hand on her shoulder had five very distinct fingers. And the voice that called her name, softly, the breath tickling her fur, was no harsh squawk. It was..."Ratchet?"

The shadow nodded, its furry chin rubbing against her. She turned over slowly, looking up at him. From what she could tell by the light, he was giving a small, sheepish smile. She smiled back, then suddenly sprang up and threw her arms around his neck, turning her head sideways to press her cheek to his, her nose almost against his own. Ratchet was surprised, both by her sudden movement and by the fact that she was only hugging him.

"Are you...still mad at me?" he gulped, speculating that as the only reason for her different greeting. He had gotten used to the idea of her running up to kiss him on occasions such as this.

"No...no...I'm not mad." She shook her head, effectually rubbing against him. He smiled broader and tentatively hugged her.

"Oi, you two lovebirds! You done yet?" They jumped back, embarrassed, their eyes darting between each other, the floor, the ceiling, and various members of the Q-Force.

"HhhhwwWAARRRGGGH!" The ear-splitting scream from one of the creatures upon discovering one of its own on the floor was deafening. Other creatures, hearing the tormented cry, thundered past the open door, completely ignoring it.

Suddenly, over the intercom, came the sultry, feminine voice of the hijacker, "It would seem that our lombax has arrived. All combatants not injured beyond fighting come to the hanger. Those unable to walk, stay where you are." She seemed to purr with pleasure. "Do not kill the lombax; I want him _alive_."

All eyes turned to Ratchet. He shrugged. "It's not like I haven't fought these guys. I took out a couple of them on the way here; they're not so tough."

"Ratchet, they decimated my entire Ranger force. Every Ranger on the Phoenix has been destroyed. I don't think they're easy to beat."

"Funny...on the way here, they didn't even seem all that vicious..."

"Those that we encountered were alone and seemed confused by you, Ratchet. Perhaps there is a pack mentallity which leads to a frenzy in which all lifeforms but their own are destroyed," Clank said. "If that is the case, then we should encounter quite the resistance force upon reaching our ship."

"Not to mention my ship's not big enough for everyone. It was crowded enough with just Qwark in there." Everyone frowned in thought. With their numbers, they had little chance of succeeding in a full attack. They needed to fall back and regroup, to find reinforcements. But how were they even going to get out...?


	4. Chapter 4

Not sure if I'll be able to get these out as fast, now that college has started up again. So, expect things to go slowly. Here's the fourth chapter. More fluffy than previous ones. And not a cliffie. XD

Reviewers:  
Black Rosettes - Thanks.  
Midnight Critic - Definately finish GC and get UYA when you can; they're well worth it. :)  
LoonyLombax - Well, if you think you know, you can say if you were right or not after I reveal who she is. ;D

Disclaimer: See chapter one.

* * *

_"Not to mention my ship's not big enough for everyone. It was crowded enough with just Qwark in there." Everyone frowned in thought. With their numbers, they had little chance of succeeding in a full attack. They needed to fall back and regroup, to find reinforcements. But how were they even going to get out...?_

Sasha's eyes lit up suddenly. "I've got a ship on a lower deck we can use."

Ratchet looked at her incredulously. "You do?"

"It's my personal ship. I don't use it very much, but the cockpit's a little larger than yours. I think we'll be able to fit in."

"Well then what are we waiting for?" Al said. "I don't like these creatures; I think I'm alergic to them..."

Sasha lead them to a small hanger on the lowermost deck of the Phoenix. Situated comforably in one corner was a small ship, perhaps a little larger than Ratchet's. It was mostly red, with golden yellow and orange flames painted across the nose and the leading edge of the wings. Under the side of the cockpit window, in white flaming letters, was the word _Firebird_. "It's not quite as impressive as the Phoenix, but it's mine."

"Good work, Commander -"

"_Captain_," Sasha corrected him. Qwark had taken to confusing her rank with his own, due to her official title and his superhero one conflicting.

"Ah, yes, good work. You might not have the _IRON! HARD! ABS!_ it takes to be me," he posed, and everyone but Skrunch rolled their eyes, "but good job. I'll fly."

"Oh-h-h, no you won't! You'll sit in the back corner, away from the flight controls. I don't want my ship damaged." Oddly enough, Qwark complied, though sulkilly, and Ratchet whispered that she needed to teach him how to do that. She laughed slightly and replied that she wasn't sure how to.

Qwark was in the back corner as Sasha had ordered him, with Helga beside him and Al, blushing under his thin fur at his proximity to the female robot, on the other side behind the pilot's seat. Skidd sat in the passenger seat, and Clank and Skrunch shared the floor between the chairs. Ratchet and Sasha had managed to both fit in the pilot's seat, despite the fact that it was really only meant for a single person - and, were it not for the fact that the crowded cockpit provided little to no personal space and overtly amplified the fact that _someone_ had an affinity for garlic bread, would probably have enjoyed being "forced" to sit so close together.

* * *

Her feet flung over one of the chair's armrests, the rogue girl looked up as the radar screen blipped. The Phoenix's bridge was really quite comfortable, obviously designed to allow one to sit for many hours without developing a sore posterior. "They're leaving already? How sad." She reached up and lazily flipped a switch, turning on the thermal scanners. In addition to the white-hot glow of the engines, the cockpit showed up as several shades of red and yellow. "It must be quite crowded in there," she purred, amused at the thought of the entire Q-Force - how rediculous they must have looked! - crammed into the small space. Her purr turned to a growl, however, as she realized that this also meant Ratchet and the whatever-she-was girl were probably quite cozy.

* * *

Truthfully, they were more embarrassed than cozy. Both enjoyed being together, but not when everyone was watching them. Ratchet kept his eyes locked on a vague, distant point outside the window, apparently transfixed by it, and Sasha was hesitant to check her readout screens, owing to their general direction and certain lombaxes who were placed between herself and them. She kept both her hands tightly gripped on the controles, her eyes fixed on the vast space in front of her.

Skidd turned to them; he was probably the only one _not_ crammed into close quarters with someone, willingly or no. "So...where's our epic space oddesey taking us?"

"Marcadia. Most of the Ranger force is in the Presidential compound," Sasha replied curtly, not daring to turn to talk.

"Oh. Okay, whatever. Wake me up when we get there, dudes, 'cause the Skiddster's gotta catch himself some Zs." He slouched in the chair and leaned over against the window, looking very serious about his sleeptime. Skrunch had already curled up in a ball on the floor, his tongue sticking out of his mouth between his teeth, and Clank had entered a stasis mode. And, when Ratchet turned around, he noticed that what had once been identifiable as three distinct persons was now more of a Qwarkalhelga blob, seeing as they were laying more or less on top of each other - or as much as you can lay on someone crammed into a spaceship.

Ratchet nudged Sasha lightly with his elbow when he heard Skidd give a snore, signalling he was asleep. "Hey, look behind us," he laughed, grinning and trying not to raise his voice. She leaned over and glanced at them, giggling slightly and covering her mouth to muffle it. Not only were they all piled together, but they were droolling on one another as well, although how - or why - a robot produced saliva was uncertain and probably best left that way.

"They've got the right idea, though," she said, her voice suddenly much quieter than his. "I mean, this is about the time we'd normally be off-duty. I guess they all go to sleep once they're off." He shrugged slightly. "Say, can you fly? I'm tired too."

"Sure." She smiled and allowed him to take the controls from her, his hands closing over hers before she had a chance to move them. His grip was surprisingly light, however, and she had no trouble pulling her hands free. Hesitating a moment, she decided it would be all right to lean on his shoulder. The light pressure surprised Ratchet, but he laid his head on hers for just a moment and reached his hand up to stroke her cheek. She smiled and grabbed his hand.

"Hey, can you fly one-handed?"

"Um...yeah...?"

"Good. I'm stealing your arm," she replied, grinning playfully. She held his hand tightly, as if she thought he might decide to try and use it to pilot again if she slackened her grip, then resettled herself on his shoulder sleepily. "'Night."

* * *

Their welcome to Marcadia was not a quiet one. While Ratchet's ship caused little to no attention from those monitoring the radar screens, it seemed that Sasha's Firebird could cause quite a stir. Several Rangers had turned up and were saluting the ship as Ratchet landed it; apparently expecting some sort of surprise inspection, a few of then also fidgetted.

No sooner had they landed and popped open the cockpit than Qwark, Helga, Al, Skrunch, and Skidd all attempted to be the first out. Of course, such a fiasco rarely works, and this time was no different; they landed in a pile on the ground. The only sensible members of the ship seemed to the lombax, the small robot, and the still-sleeping...

"Sasha?" the President called. The girl in question lifted lifted her head and shook it sleepily, rubbing her eyes and half-hazardly patting down her hair.

"Hi dad," she said quietly, climbing down and hugging him in one of her rare displays of affection. He patted her head and smiled; it was good to see his daughter again. "Dad, we've got a problem..."

The President glared at Ratchet, who was currently climbing down slowly. "My little girl's not _pregnant_, is she!?"

Ratchet fell off the side of the ship, landing on his backside. He looked up, a look of absolute horror on his face. "WHAT?!"

"No, dad, no, no, _no_," Sasha said, shaking her head. Ratchet stood up, rubbing his sore bottom. "The problem is that the Phoenix has been taken over. A female - we can't identify her due to her mask - is controlling the ship with an army of strange creatures. She's decimated all the Rangers there. We need a stronger force with which to retalliate."

"Ah. Okay then, so long as I'm not a grandfather. I'm too young for that!" he laughed.

"We need a place to stay, too," Sasha added, glancing at the ground. She didn't like the fact that she'd lost her ship not once, but twice. If her recorded continued, she _would_ be demoted to Commander, or perhaps worse.

"Why of course you can stay here! I have so many rooms I often get lost and end up sleeping in a different bed every night anyway!"

* * *

Sasha rolled over and blinked at the clock sleepily. "Five...fifty-four? Ngh, may as well get up. There's no way I'll ever get back to sleep." She pushed herself off the bed, yawning in the nightclothes she'd borrowed from one of the staff members. They were slightly big, but then, most everything everyone else had was "slightly big" on her.

She trudged to the shower, still half-asleep, and turned it on as cold as it would go. That'd wake her up. She stood under the icy water and let it pelt her momentarily before she turned it to a much warmer setting and actually got around to washing.

Finished with her shower, she toweled herself off and grabbed some clothes that had been provided for her. Once again, they were slightly large, though it did look like some effort had been made to find garments that at least fit somewhat. She shook her hair out as she dried it, then brushed it quickly into place. Of course, the instant she moved, it was back in her eyes. She grabbed her headband and restrained her unruly hair; so what if it didn't match?

Yawning and stretching to reasure herself she was completely awake, she set about finding the kitchen. However, on the way she discovered an expresso machine, and instead decided she could use a little caffine. She quickly drained the small cup, then decided she might want to wake Ratchet, despite the fact that the windows all showed dark skies that had barely just begun to lighten. It'd be hard to find time to hang out with him later in the day, since her dad had cleared several of his meetings to have a conference with her and the Rangers.

However, the lombax in question was not easy to find, and when she finally found his room - when she decided that relying upon her nose was not beneith her and found it to work quite well - he was hard to awaken. He had twisted his bedsheets around him, as well as his nightclothes, and was laying splattered over the bed hugging his pillow and, if she wasn't mistaken, attempting to eat it as well.

She sat down on the bed and shook him lightly. "Ratchet? Hey, Ratchet, wake up."

"Mrph...nuh...bleh..." he mumbled into (and perhaps through) the pillow. She sighed and shook him again, harder. He growled lightly and bit the pillow. She leaned over and blew in his ear, thinking that perhaps shaking him wasn't such a good idea. He lifted a hand to cover his ear, or at least the sensative hole leading to his eardrum. With his ribs now more exposed, she tried tickling him, and wound up with her hand clamped amid a tangle of bedspread, arm, rib, and leg, for the moment she'd tickled he'd closed himself into a very tight ball.

She tugged her hand out of the middle of him. "Come on Ratchet, wake up." She brushed her fingers over his cheek, vaguely noting the large contrast in color between even the lightest portion of her fur and his. "Please?" He vaguely seemed to listen to her, turning his muzzle slightly to push against her hand, but he didn't open an eye. She leaned over and rubbed her nose against his.

Sleepily, in an unfocussed manner, he opened an eye, but his stare didn't seem to register anything. He lifted his hand again to rub at his eyes, but stopped the halfhearted gesture and dropped his hand against her cheek, moving his thumb lightly over the short fur. Sasha froze - though Ratchet was normally reciprocative to her attentions, it was rare to see him approach first. She thought that perhaps his sleepiness had caused a breach in whatever it was - his pride, most likely, not wanting to seem mushy - that kept him ever-so-slightly distant, and that he wasn't truely thinking about what he was doing.

"Hey, Ratchet, c'mon, get up." He mumbled something unintelligable but made no other response. His fingers still contenued their sleepy movements, pausing at the edge of her jaw to play with the fringe of hair there. Though she certainly didn't mind, she _did_ wish he'd wake up. "Wake up; I've got something I want you to see."

"Sum...fin...thoo...see?" he mumbled, still sleepy. He lifted his head from the pillow. "Can it wait?"

"No. Now come on, get up." She punched his shoulder playfully and sat up, tugging his arm. He sat up, too, but promptly leaned against her shoulder, thankful she was wearing civilian clothes and not her uniform with its shoulder guards. She giggled and hugged him, rubbing behind his ears and saying, "Hey, I appreciate your attention, but if you don't get up, you'll miss it, hmm?" She cupped his chin and kissed the end of his nose, then quickly skipped out of the room before her embarrassment got to her. She wasn't sure why, but showing any serious ammount of affection always seemed to bring a hot, flustered feeling to her face.

Ratchet sat there, dazed and half-confused. He still wasn't sure what to expect from her. On one hand, she was very serious, always thinking of the mission at hand before anything else, including herself. On the other, she could be impulsive, playful, and - as he'd discovered - quite sweet when she was in a certain mood. He shook himself, his ears flopping into his eyes. If she wanted him up so badly, she must have a good reason.

Untangling himself from the covers, he managed to find something that might fit him...maybe. The pants were probably, no, definately too large for his short limbs, but that didn't matter too much. He could tie them up. But the shirt was annoying. It wasn't just a comfortable sort of baggy; it felt more like an oversized dress than a shirt. He sighed and decided that it'd be better to walk around without a shirt - or even in his armor, despite its inherrent "lombax smell" - than to be swallowed alive. The shoes, at least, fit somewhat; having large feet could be a blessing at times.

Sasha cocked her head at his odd dress - it was rather funny to see him in such baggy pants and no shirt - but didn't say anything. Instead she lead him to what appeared to be a hovertaxi, but with controls and comfortable seats and higher sidewalls. In the predawn darkness, it was hard to make out much else. "So, what exactly is this big secret of yours?"

She shrugged. "You'll see."

"I think those are the two words I've always hated, right up there with 'doctor's office'," Ratchet said, sticking his tongue at her. She laughed and motioned for him to join her in the hovercar. He did and stared at the sky, wondering what in the world she could want with him at such an hour. The sun wasn't even up!

They rode for several minutes in silence, skimming over the murky waters of the planet. The populated, cultured city soon began to fade behind them, and a jungle-like area loomed ahead. The trees weren't perfectly dense; instead, they were of varying heights and sizes and the undergrowth was sparse, as if it were a natural park meant to be walked through rather than an untouched area of the world. Sasha set the hovercar down on a sandy, open area and got out. "Come on, we need to walk the rest of the way."

"Walk? What for? I'm tired; it's way too early to be..." he trailed off in a yawn and finished, "walking."

"Come on, you," she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him along side her. "It's not _that_ early."

"I don't see how you can be so energetic in the morning. You didn't even let me grab breakfast!"

"Oops, I'm sorry. I just had some coffee; I guess it made me hyper."

"No kidding," Ratchet laughed. "You act like Skidd when he gets into my nano. Only he's a lot worse."

Sasha laughed, then hushed suddenly as she realized the amount of sound it made echoing around the trees. She tugged at his arm again, pulling him along but also this time pulling him closer to her. The terrain wasn't perfectly flat; rather, it was a series of small hills and valleys, with a few streams cutting through the path, though none so wide they couldn't be stepped over. Ratchet wasn't sure where she was taking him; a nature hike didn't seem like her style. And besides, she was walking much too fast to be enjoying the scenery.

They stopped, quite suddenly, at the base of a tree. Dull thunder could be heard, indicating a waterfall not so far away. It appeared as though short spikes or nails had been driven into the tree at some point, creating a series of welts and knobs which could be used to make climbing easier. She started up the tree, pausing a few feet above his head. "Come on; follow me."

"What for?" he asked, but took hold of a knot and began to climb after her. "What's the point of this? Some kind of substitute for the VR training?"

"Ha ha, no, just climb up to the top. The view's great."

"A scenic lookout?" Ratchet stopped. "What's the point of that?"

"You're a mess," she laughed, playfully reaching a foot down to nudge him. Not hard enough to knock him loose, but enough to get the idea across. "C'mon, you'll see."

The tree itself was actually quite tall; forty feet would not have been an over-exadgeration. The spikes had been driven all the way up to the spreading crown, where one particularly flat, thick branch had been worn smooth by previous sightseers. They sat down on the branch and Sasha pointed to the sky, now glowing several shades of gold.

"It's nice," Ratchet admitted, yawning and stretching his arms over his head. Taking the opportunity, Sasha scooted herself up against his side and slipped an arm around his waist. "Hey, hey," he laughed, "aren't I supposed to do that to you?" He settled his arm around her shoulders.

"Since when do you do what you're 'supposed' to do?" she replied grinning. It was true; Ratchet had taken to breaking rules at a young age and still didn't quite take orders perfectly - though he did normally listen to Sasha. Usually. Unless she told him to get up. She was such a morning person, and he wasn't. It took quite a bit of prodding to convince him to leave his bed at a 'normal' hour.

He laughed nervously and looked away, feigning interest in the sunrise. "So...what was the point of dragging me out here with no food?"

"Who says I didn't bring food?" she asked, digging in her pocket with her free hand. She produced a small nanobar she'd picked up while waiting for him to change clothes and handed it to him. He smiled, thankful to not starve, and ate it gratefully. "You and food," she laughed.

"What?"

"I dunno..." she trailed off, staring out at the sky. "You just seem so funny, getting all worked up over something that fits in the palm of your hand." She laced her fingers with his to emphasize the point, drawing his attention not only to his hands but to the size of them; they folded nearly completely around her own, creating a fuzzy yellow glove over her brown fur.

He smiled, enjoying the attention, though it did make him feel a little silly. Here he was, doing absolutely nothing...and loving it! His normally pell-mell life was, at least for now, on hold. So watching a sunrise with your girlfriend was corny, something you saw in an outdated holovid. So what? It could still be enjoyed, though he didn't think a whole movie based around it would be very interesting. He smiled, and, not quite realizing what he was doing, flicked his tail. It touched against Sasha's and curled around it, twining itself with her shorter one.

The sudden touch brought Sasha to full awareness, however. At first, the sensation surprised her, and her expression became suitably alert. Then, however, her wide-eyed face took on a smirking, playful quallity. "Are you trying to put one over on me, lombax?" she teased.

"What?" his genuine confusion was soon gone when he felt her tail tighten around his. He could tell he'd been the first to move there, but now she'd made it difficult for him to pull away. "No, I wasn't...wasn't thinking...I..."

"Shh..." she whispered, placing a finger over his mouth. She giggled softly. "You're lucky you're cute like this," she said, playfully teasing him again.

"I'm cute, huh? And why is that lucky?" He pushed her finger aside with his muzzle and lowered his nose to hers, happy that, at least so long as they were sitting, he was the taller of the two of them. It was awfully difficult to have to look up to everyone else, being so much smaller than they were. He was glad of the momentary reprieve.

"Because, you've be in trouble if you weren't," she purred, staring back at him. Her lips felt dry; she flicked her tongue out to wet them, and, in the process, found herself licking Ratchet. Suddenly embarrassed, she turned around, her entire demeanor changed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"Hey, what's wrong with a friendly lick?" he asked, laughing and trying to keep her mood light. He wrapped his arms around her completely and leaned on her shoulder, his nose burred in a mix of her hair and fur. "It's not like I mind or anything, right? No big deal."

"No big deal, eh?" she said, her confident, smirking demenor back. "Well, if you don't mind that..." She trailed off and turned around to face him, a small grin on her lips. Ratchet laughed, nervously, recognizing the look she had to her, though he didn't make a move to get away. In fact, it was a rather entrancing moment for him, and he didn't even blink when she leaned over a little more and kissed him gently, though she decidedly kept her tongue to herself this time.

It was warm, sitting on the branch in the morning sun, and they stayed there some time, enjoying each other's company, talking and laughing. It was nice to take a break from their worries for a few hours.


	5. Chapter 5

More of the story, as the muse suddenly had an idea and I needed to get it down before the writer's block took over.

Reader replies:  
Black Rosettes - Yes, fluffy. This one's got a little fluff, not quite as much.  
Midnight Critic - You'll find out if you're right very soon. D  
WHOCARES? - Not quite my first, but the first in a while. And you'll have to wait to know who she is. XP  
LoonyLombax - I always thought the GP was funny pestering Ratchet about his daughter. You gotta love the overprotective daddy in him. :3  
Scath - Thanks

* * *

_It was warm, sitting on the branch in the morning sun, and they stayed there some time, enjoying each other's company, talking and laughing. It was nice to take a break from their worries for a few hours._

"Hey, why'd you drag me out here anyway?" Ratchet asked. Though it was nice to have time for just the two of them, without having to worry about listening for opening doors and obnoxious footsteps, it did strike him as strange that she'd go to the trouble of making the time.

"Dad's called a meeting this afternoon. I figured if we started planning to take back the Phoenix, we wouldn't get much of a chance to do something like this, you know? Besides, this is probably one of my favorite places on the planet," she said, smiling and leaning against his furry shoulder as if she was considering falling asleep there. "I came out here every once in a while when I got stuck staying here. It gets a little boring, sitting in that compound all day."

Ratchet nodded. He'd been bored before. Veldin had once meant "large ball of boring red mud" to him. He understood what it was like to be completely and utterly bored by your surroundings.

"We should probably head back though," she said, looking at the sky. "It's probably almost ten now, just guessing though." She held up her wrists to show the didn't have a watch.

"So, what...we climb down?"

"Yeah," she said, nudging him towards the trunk. Ratchet smirked, obviously resistant to the idea of shimmying down a tree backwards. Instead he picked her up almost effortlessly - she scarcely weighed more than one of his many weapons - and slid off the branch. She shrieked and tucked herself up into a ball; he could feel her fingers digging into his shoulder and was thankfull her claws were not as sharp as her teeth. He landed lightly, his legs and feet absorbing the shock of the fall. "Why you..."

"What?" he asked innocently.

Sasha laughed; it was impossible to fake anger at him, especially as it was quite comfortable being held as she was. In fact, were her sense of duty not reminding her that they needed to be back - that she was not sure of the time and thus should allow leeway to make certain she was not late - she would have been content to allow him to hold her until his arms gave out. "So, what...are you gonna let me down?"

"No," Ratchet said, smirking again. She squirmed slightly in protest, but didn't really try. He knew she could be quite slippery when she was feeling antisocial. The movement was more playful, as if she didn't truely want to get away.

"You're a mess. A very large mess." He nodded and grinned as if he were proud of himself, but quietly set her on her feet. "At least you didn't drop me. And I may have to drag you back out here, just so we can jump out of that tree again." She joined him in grinning, though her usual reserve kept the expression much smaller. "Come on, we should be heading back."

They walked back to the hovercar more slowly than they had come, enjoying each other's company more than the surrounding forest. While Ratchet may not have liked having his old "shortest person present" status back, Sasha was not an entirely unpleasant person to be shorter than. Her shoulder was just below his chin, a perfect height for him to rest it on - though it _was_ awfully difficult to walk like that.

Their ride over the water, too, was slow and uneventfull. Ratchet, deciding to take advantage of Sasha's driving, leaned heavily against her shoulder and attempted to return to the sleep she'd dragged him out of. He wasn't especially tired now - once he was out of bed, he could normally stay awake easily; it was getting him up that was the problem - but it made a nice excuse for him to lean on her. He wasn't normally sure of himself around females, but having an excuse, even one as weak as sleepiness, helped quite a bit.

Sasha shifted her shoulders slightly so that she could look at Ratchet. "You're impossible to drive with, you know that?" He looked up at her appologetically, his ears dropped. She leaned her head against his, smirking, and lowered her voice so it was just auditable over the hum of the engine. "Then again, impossible always was more fun." She laughed lightly. Ratchet smiled, his ears perked up again. A fine spray had been shooting up from the water they were skimming over and, though the light was from overhead and not a dusky angle, it still made a sparkling mist over her fur. Ratchet thought it pretty.

* * *

Her eyes narrowed. He was so _close_ to her; how dare he!? She wanted to see him away, scrunched up against the oposite side of the hovercar, threatening to slide over into the water. Instead, he was cuddling up to her, leaning over quite a ways so he could rest on her shoulder, looking up with a perfectly happy, content expression. She wanted to grab him and yank him away.

Oh, yes, she was jealous. Highly jealous. And, as she brought her hoverboard closer the back of their vehicle, she leveled a small rocket launcher at its exhaust and rear engines. Not an especially powerful one - certainly not powerful enough to cause any sort of explosion - but enough to cripple the craft and render it useless. She took careful aim, minding the pitch of her hoverboard under her feet, and pulled the trigger.

The tiny rocket, barely larger than her finger, slipped from the barrel and began its whistling course towards the back of the hovercar. It was really more of an explosive blowdart than a rocket, so small it was. But, small or no, it packed enough of a punch to knock out the rear engines. The sudden ceasation of the lift and thrust caused the front of the ship to pitch upward, throwing its very surprised occupants backwards into the water. The craft continued to flip, however, and its front engines pushed it over backwards completely. Now upside-down, the engines attempted to force it underwater, only to succeed in shorting themselves out. Without the push of its engines, the craft drifted quietly to the bottom.

Ratchet and Sasha quickly resurfaced, treading water, their civilian clothes bulging around them in sopping bunches. After quickly checking that the other was alright, they each turned around, looking for what had attacked them. Sasha spotted her first. "You!"

She moved her hoverboard closer, the soft hum of the engine suddenly quite loud without that of the hovercar to drown it out. The tall woman stopped a few feet away. "Yes?" she purred.

Ratchet growled and cursed the fact that he did not have a weapon handy. Even worse, he was more or less incapacitated in the water - he could swim just fine, but it was impossible to fight hand-to-hand when your opponent was hovering over you out of reach. Instead, he did the only thing he could and possitioned himself between the two females, almost without realizing it. He had become quite protective.

"Ratchet, Ratchet, Ratchet..." the female continued, shaking her head. "I don't understand it - you come here and waste your time with this..._girl_." She smirked behind her mask as she saw Sasha's mouth curl into a snarl. Another open nerve had been hit. "You could come with me, just think..."

"I don't _think_ so," he spat, his ears pinned to his head. "And if I had my Tempest..."

"You'd shock us all," she purred, her smirk becoming more noticeable. Her voice lowered slightly, the purring vibrato continuing softly, "Come on, come with me."

"Get out of here before you cause any more problems," Sasha growled, her usual calm barely restraining her from yelling. "It isn't your choice if Ratchet comes with you; it's his." She refrained from adding, _he's mine, anyway_ . Instead she said, "And I think he already gave you his answer."

The rogue shook her head, tossing the loose edges of her hood about like hair. She reached up and smoothed it, then reached inside as if to reset her hair, too. "Ah, but, you see, he has no choice..." She produced a foul-smelling rag from a plastic pouch she had hidden under the hood, grabbed Ratchet from the water, and, in one fluid movement, pressed the rag over his nose.

"HEY! Let me go!" He wriggled hard, trying to escape her grasp. For her size - she didn't appear especially muscular - she was deceptively strong. Or perhaps he was feeling weak. The rag she held over his nose positively _reeked_ ; it was making him nausious. His head was swimming; the feeling of a need to vomit was becoming stronger. He couldn't quite see straight. The world...it was so blurry. He felt like he'd gone nearsighted in less than two minutes.

He quit struggling so hard. It didn't really matter, did it? She had him quite tightly; there was no way he'd escape. He rolled his eyes around and noted Sasha, her eyes wide in horror. She was saying something...something about letting him go. That'd be nice, wouldn't it? Yes, letting him go would be nice. But he didn't think he could stand on his own now; he was so tired. And if he couldn't stand, he'd fall in the water. Didn't she think of that? Yes, of course she did...Sasha always thought of everything...she must have been planning to catch him... Well, it'd be easier to catch him if he was limp, right? He relaxed; he felt so, _so_ tired...she surely wouldn't mind if he took a short nap...

"Let him go!"

"What for? He looks so peaceful, don't you agree?" The woman shifted her grip on Ratchet, moved her arms so she could pick him up. He was heavy, even moreso with his waterlogged clothes.

"Let. Him. GO!" She tried to propell herself out of the water, at least to knock the woman from her hoverboard, but only succeeded in getting a few inches more of her body out for a second, creating a splash and a lot of sloshing. "What did you do to him?"

"Relax, it's only ether," she purred, curling herself closer to him. "It won't hurt him; he's only unconcious. I wouldn't want to hurt _my_ lombax, would I?"

"He isn't _your_ lombax," she growled, her largely immobile ears dropping slightly.

The rogue laughed and began to pull away, backing her hoverboard over the water. Sasha, knowing a chase was futile, huffed and turned toward the shore. It couldn't have been very far away, only another twenty feet. If she hurried, the large fish that inhabitted the water wouldn't notice her.

Smiling, the woman turned her board around and sped toward her ship that she'd hidden in the undergrowth. Sasha's escape was immaterial; she had what she wanted. The lombax was heavy in his sleep; she wished he were at least half awake so that he could stand on his own. But he'd never agree to come along with her on his own. He didn't know who she was - couldn't, with her mask - and she wasn't sure he'd agree even if he _did_ know.

She laid him in the passenger seat, stroking his damp fur. The wind created by her hoverboard had partially dried him. He was quite cute in his induced state of sleep, his muscular body relaxed, his face in a state that had changed from alarmed to peaceful, almost happy. She hoped the ether was strong enough to keep him that way until she was back to the Phoenix; she didn't care to take that rag out again. It smelled, even when it wasn't pressed over her nose.

Ratchet, however, was a sound sleeper. His chest continued to rise and fall slowly with deep, even, sleepy breaths. He didn't even flinch as the ship landed in the hanger of the Phoenix and one of the large creatures hefted his body around its neck and shoulders none-too-gently, nor as it placed him rather uncerimoniously into one of the chairs on the bridge. Not trusting him to stay put if he awoke, the woman tied his arms and shoulders to the chair using a length of rope on of the creatures had discovered while rumaging through the many compartments on the ship.

He slept for some time, upwards of two hours. When he finally awoke, he was quite groggy and unsure of himself. The last thing he'd readily recalled doing was leaning against Sasha's shoulder in the hovercar. He could vaguely recall something later about being wet, but it was fuzzy. Perhaps Sasha had decided to chew on his ear? No...that couldn't be it...the wetness was all over, and highly unpleasant.

He say up straight and tried to rub his eyes, but found that his hands were tied. He shook his head instead, slowly, trying not to agrivate the sudden wave of nausia. "Oh, man...what _happened_?" He thought, slowly, trying to piece together the events. He'd leaned on Sasha...their hovercar...exploded? No, no...the engine just went out. They fell in the water...that was the unpleasant wetness...and then...a female...someone...a masked female...she'd grabbed him from the water and held a foul-smelling rag over his nose...it'd made him feel sick...and sleepy...he'd lost conciousness...and now he was here. In the Phoenix's bridge. She must have been the one Sasha'd said had taken over it!

The doors behind him opened with their mechanical swish, and he heard footsteps approaching behind him, light and metalic, as if the person wore steel boots. There was no mechanical grinding of gears; it couldn't be a robot. Even Clank, as fastidious about oil as he was, made noise when he moved. "Hello, Ratchet," a female voice purred.

His ears shot up in surprise. She turned his chair around and leaned foreward. In annoyance, he put his ears down and turned away. "Let me go."

"Oh, I would, Ratchet, I would," she said, leaning closer and cupping his cheek, "but I know you'll just try and run away. And I do want you to stay." She allowed her hand to drop and run over his chest. Ratchet tucked his legs up before her hand passed his diaphragm. While he had to admit that her touch itself wasn't completely dislikable, he didn't like _her_. He would have much rathered that Sasha were the one leaning so close and petting him.

Ratchet growled low in his throat. She laughed, put quicked pulled away from him when he lifted a lip. She wasn't too sure he wouldn't bite her, given the chance. He may have been restrained, but he wasn't incapacitated. He thought for a moment. "Who are you?" he finally asked.

"You don't recognize me?" she asked, her voice suddenly small and not as sultry.

Ratchet shook his head. He decided that if she had him caught, he may as well try and get _something_ useful out of it. And that required tact...and questions. "Or those," he said, nodding in the direction of the large creatures behind her. "What are they?"

"An...invention," she began, obviously delighted to talk about them. "They were originally just stupid swamp dwellers, but they've been...improved, so to speak. A few minor tweaks, here and there - they're actually quite efficient soldiers. And why shouldn't they be? It's what they were designed for, to be front line soldiers designed to startle and alarm an enemy. They weren't originally mine, but a few simple changes and they came to accept me as their leader. They're quite good at following orders. In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd say they thought of me as thier mother." One of the creatures made a gurgling sound in its throat as if agreeing with her.

"Of course," she went on, leaning closer to him again; it took all of Ratchet's willpower not to growl. "I brought them here because I...was jealous." She stroked his cheek softly, not so differently from the way Sasha did at times. She was leaning so close Ratchet could smell her. Not entirely offensive - more like perfume, but of a brand he didn't like. He couldn't identify her personally due to the scent, but something, somehow, was familiar about her. "I saw the two of you together at Clank's movie premier and simply couldn't stand it. I had to have you to myself...

"Of course, you'd never come willingly, at least not at first," she said, backing away from him and turning around. "But I thought that perhaps, after some time...you'd agree."

Ratchet fought the urge to growl and tell her he wasn't available and didn't intend to be, certainly not for her. He took a breath to calm himself. "But I still don't know who you are."

"Would you like to know?" He nodded. "Alright then. Perhaps it will make you more agreeable..." She reached up and removed her mask, pushing her hood back.

Ratchet's eyes widened in shock..


	6. Chapter 6

You thought I'd forgotten this, didn't you? Nope, still working on it. Just caught up by college (it's a little hard to write in school ;-) ). Now for the review replies!

Mily: You know who it is, eh? Okay. Not like I'm not the Obvious Fairy or anything about it... XP  
LooneyLombax: Yes, it seems the "air conditioning" (heh-heh) is a lot hot under the collar around him.  
Black Rosettes: What happens next? Read on to find out...  
Midnight Critic: Yes, I do love torturing you. It makes you review! P And you know how authoresses live off reviews...  
blaze cutter: I think they've got it, too. should change her name from "Fuzztaku Captain" to "Captain Obvious"  
lombaxworship: Heh, I can never tell when I'll get the writting bug. It bites randomly. I may do another story soon, or I may hold off on the fics.  
Missy Mouse: I updated (finally).  
Pfeh: College and the writer's block have moved, so here you go.

* * *

_"Would you like to know?" He nodded. "Alright then. Perhaps it will make you more agreeable..." She reached up and removed her mask, pushing her hood back._

_Ratchet's eyes widened in shock..._

* * *

Sasha shook herself and milked water from her hair and tail. Her clothes, soggy and limp, clung to her slight frame. While she had managed to make it ashore all right - the tales of sharks infesting the waters seemed a bit exadgerated - she didn't particularly enjoy the stares of the locals. None of them called out to her; did they recognize her? Surely not. She took care to keep her status as First Daughter relatively quiet; she didn't appreciate the stigma of being in her position. And without her captain's suit to identify her, to them she was just a soggy brown girl trudging through the streets and mumbling to herself. They studiously kept to the other side of the road.

The bright, cheerful day didn't seem to fit with her currently-ruined mood. She wished it would cloud over and pour; at least then she wouldn't stand out so bad. She'd look no more rediculous than the next poor sap who'd forgotten their umbrella. Well, except for the waterweeds that had knotted behind her ear. She was waiting for them to dry and become brittle; they would crumble away easily then. As it was, the only thing she liked about the weather was that it dried her more quickly.

She shook her head quietly and continued to walk, her hands alternately clenched at her sides and wrapped around her middle. She wished the hovercar hadn't sank. At least then she could have gotten herself cleaned up faster. The dampness of her clothes seemed to dampen her mood as well. Her eyes were stinging; she told herself it was something in the water.

No, that wasn't it. She blinked and tried to refocus her mind on her surroundings. If she could think about her current physical state, it would distract her mind from her emotional one. She often attempted to distract herself by focussing solely on the mission at hand; being a millitary officer often necessitated this. But she had no clear mission now - reclaim the Phoenix, yes. But how? There had been no plan of action formulated. In addition, thoughts of her job brought up thoughts of Ratchet, and he was the last thing she wanted to think of.

'_How could you?_' she berated herself. '_ Swim away...like nothing. And she..._she_ had him!_' She shook her head again, not minding the wet strands of hair sticking to her cheeks. No, fighting with herself would get her nowhere. Keeping walking, reaching the compound, forming a plan...that would accomplish things. Distracting her mind momentarily would allow her to walk.

"Sasha?" The President looked up as his daughter entered compound, the sound of the doors alerting him. He rushed over when he noticed her sorry state of attire, her clothes still slightly damp and the moist weeds still tangled in her hair. "What happened?"

"Ratchet..." she mumbled, her eyes glassy. He cupped her chin in his large hand, looking at her with concern. "The woman who took over the Phoenix has taken him captive." Her expression hardened into determination.

"Clean yourself up. I've already got a meeting scheduled for this concern," he said, patting her shoulder reassuringly. He leaned over as she turned toward the hallway and whispered, "Don't worry; I know what this means to you."

She nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly, and walked to one of the many bathrooms with a blank expression on her face. When she cared to, she could put her emotions quite out of the picture untill her work was done. As grateful as she was for his comfort, what she truely wanted was Ratchet. He wasn't one for gentle comfort, save a cocky, self-assured grin, but his presence was comforting enough.

Digging her fingers into her hair, she attempted to separate it from the weeds. They were damp and green and quite sturdy; it took a good deal of pulling to break them, and when she did, she often pulled small portions of her own hair as well. "Ow...ow, ow, ow, ow..." Discarding the offensive weeds, she dropped her soggy clothes on the floor and proceeded to take her second shower of the day; the water was quite foul-smelling in her fur.

She redressed in her newly laundered ordinary uniform, attempting to make her appearance at least somewhat official. The small creases in her metal headband still held some dirty water; she washed them out and repositioned it on her head. She rubbed her eyes gently. Her head hurt. She wondered what the female had wanted with Ratchet, what she might do to him... '_No, don't think that._' Perhaps she didn't feel like the great Captain of the Phoenix just then, but that was what everyone else saw her as, and that was what duty demanded she be.

The clock on the wall read that it was only a little before one; she had time to find the kitchen and get herself a meal, though that was easier said than done. Being the _end_ of the lunch break, however, the halls were rather empty; the staff she did encounter were rather grouchy, even under their pretense of deference, having to go back to work and not being happy about it. Sasha, not in the mood to argue, walked somberly past them, her eyes studiously focussed on whatever happened to be at the other end of the hall.

Once she got fairly close, the kitchen was easy enough to find, what with all its different smells. Baking pastry products, sharp vinegar, frying eggs and meat...Sasha suddenly realized just how hungry she really was. She had only intended to eat because logic dictated that she would function better on a full stomach, but now she wanted to eat simply because the smell of the food was so good. Perhaps her concern for Ratchet had curbed her appitite before, but it seemed to be back now.

Grabbing a slice of still-warm-from-the-oven bread, she smeared it with butter and garlic, intending to make toast. Unfortunately, Sasha's cooking skills were slightly rusty - and rather nonexistant, due to her lack of a need for them - and she ended up burning two slices before she managed to salvage a third (though still slightly burned) piece. She absentmindedly wiped a knifefull of jelly on the garlic-less side and folded the bread over, creating a small, if slightly unusual, sandwich. Pilfering a few pieces of fruit when the cooks weren't looking, she strolled nonchallantly towards the conference room.

It was now almost one-thirty, but she still had time to eat in peace. The sandwhich was strange; she didn't realize burnt garlic toast and jelly were quite so...different...when mixed. The fruit was good, however - but then, it wasn't a strange concoction thrown together when her mind was somewhere else. She finished her lunch, her mind already drifting to Ratchet. She rested her chin in her hands and stared out the large picture window in the wall, overlooking the city.

'_She probably took him back to the Pheonix; she's basically claimed it as hers now. I'll take it back. I'll take _him_ back._' Her eyes widened slightly. '_ But what if...no, he wouldn't just dump me for her, would he? She drugged him with ether...wasn't that deemed unsafe a couple thousand years ago? Surely he wouldn't...not after that, no...but still, what if he did? We _are_ different species, after all, though our differences aren't major. And our personalities fit well; that's what matters, isn't it?_'

And yet, at the same time, she couldn't help but get the nagging feeling that there was something unusual about this woman. She was so confident in herself; most girls didn't even look at Ratchet twice if she was with him. Sasha's personality was just forcefull enough that it created a sort of "hands off" sign, and yet this woman seemed to not care - or just not notice. And she seemed so certain that she was somehow better than herself. "What an ego..."

"Excuse me?" one of the President's aids poked his head in.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was talking to myself; I didn't hear you come in." Sasha stood up and nodded courteously. "You are...?"

"Here to record the meeting. It is due to start soon, yes?"

"Yes, in two minutes, in fact. I wonder where everyone is?"

"Getting coffee, most likely. These bigshots love their capuchino, if you'll excuse my saying so," he added nervously, noting the insignia on her uniform. He pushed his glasses up his blue nose; the anxious sweating he was doing had caused them to slip. She nodded and sat back down, continuing to stare out the window silently. The aid did not enjoy her silence; he was so accustomed to the incessant chatter of executives that her quiet contemplation unsettled him.

Fortunately for him, several of those involved in the meeting arrived shortly thereafter and took their seats, glancing from one to the other among themselves and talking in hushed, excited whispers. With the president's arrival, the meeting commenced.

Early on, it was not clear what course of action was to be taken. First, the enemy's strength was calculated, given the number of Rangers on the Phoenix and the amount of time it took them to breach their ranks. The logical response, then, was to determine what amount of firepower would be sufficient to overwhelm them; a force somewhere between double and tripple the normal Ranger count of just over one hundred seemed sufficient.

Furthermore, the intentions and identity of the female remained in question. "She seemed to be only interested in Ratchet," Sasha said at length. "It wasn't so much the control of the Phoenix as access to him..."

"Was there anything unusual or striking about her?" one of the advisors asked.

"No, not especially...her body was completely covered. I couldn't see anything to identify her."

"_Nothing_?" he pressed, knowing he risked sparking her temper if he pressed too hard; he had once made the mistake of angering her when she had previously visited the compound and did not wish to repeat the experience.

Sasha's eyes darkened momentarily at his tone, but then her face took on a thoughtful look. "Hmm..." she murmered, considering her thoughts for a moment. "She did have five fingers, I think."

"Then that narrows our species search considerably," one of the other advisors said, looking up from her notes, then added under her breath, "though it isn't very helpful..."

"Well, then, since we can't figgure out who she is, why don't we come up with something to do? Some retaliation, some retribution, some...what's another good word that starts with 'R'?" the President asked, leaning over towards Sasha. She rolled her eyes, and quietly muttered what sounded a little like, "Ratchet," though he wasn't quite sure.

There was general silence in the room as everyone considered what could be done. An outright war was not a good idea; Solana was still recovering from the fight with Dr. Nefarrious, and there was no telling how many of the creatures were available to the rogue. "A rescue mission," Sasha said finally, looking at the others present in the room. "Not a full attack, but with power as backup and a threat. The Phoenix is worth too many bolts to destroy in an attack -" The financial advisor opened his mouth to object, but quickly cut himself off when she shot him a sidelong glare. "- so the Rangers and their ships will be for show and protection only."

"Sasha, that's a wonderful idea! And it starts with 'R', too!" the President said, very pleased. A few of the advisors rolled their eyes; though he was a good leader, the President could be a little silly at times. "Then it's settled. A task force will surround the Phoenix, and, um...er..."

"Demand the release of Ratchet," Sasha said, supplying his words. "If she will not comply, part of the troops will land within the hanger of the Phoenix as a threat. The demand will be issued again."

"And if it is refused the second time?" the female advidor said.

"Then we will have to exert some measure of force," Sasha replied curtly.

"I thought another war was 'too costly'?" she countered, narrowing her eyes. She didn't completely like the young captain. "You're letting your emotions cloud your judgement."

"My feelings have nothing to do with this," the Cazar replied, her voice forcibly level. "In case you have forgotten, Ratchet was instrumental in the defeat of Dr. Nefarious."

The advisor slumped back in her chair, unable to think of a reply without leaping over the table and strangling the girl. The man next to her, sensing the tension in the air, tried to divert their attention, "All right then, it's settled. I will ready a fleet of three hundred Galactic Rangers and brief one of our generals..."

"No," said Sasha, looking pointedly from him to the woman beside him. "_I'll_ lead. The Phoenix is my ship; this is my problem. I will lead." She stood up, and so did the President.

"All right then, I declare this meeting adjurned," he said, motioning to the door. As the advisors left, he caught his daughter's shoulder, noting the tension in her muscles. "Sasha, how about getting a coffee with your old man?"

She smiled vaguely. While she had just eaten lunch not so very long ago, she _did_ like coffee, and she _had_ been missing the time she spent talking to her father. It would be good to have an hour or two to catch up on her family life. "Alright," she nodded.

Sasha spent the rest of the afternoon in a considerably lighter mood. She had a plan of action; she was satisfied. Tommorrow, she would lead the force against the mysterious woman and reclaim what was hers. Today, however, it was good to relax. She retold a few of her funnier stories to her father, of the silly things Ratchet had done, of the Q-Force's idiosyncracies, even of the Rangers who'd worked on her ship...though there was touch of sadness to her voice as she spoke of them. While she wasn't the most sentimental woman alive, she did care for those she worked with.

By evening, however, she was feeling considerably more meloncholic, despite a warm supper. Helga, upon spying her slightly downcast gaze and slouched posture as she meandered the corridoors of the building, proclaimed her to be a "lovesick puppy-cat", slapped her roughly on the back (Sasha supposed it was a friendly gesture of goodwill, but had some difficulty reading the robot's intentions), and told her to give the dirty female now sitting in the Phoenix a piece of her mind when next she saw her. Giving the larger woman a weak smile - her back was rather sore after being hit so hard - she excused herself and continued wandering the halls. It was calming to her, to be able to walk with nothing to do; for being such a big, busy place, the wing she'd chosen to explore was quite empty and still.

Suddenly, however, she realized why. One door stood open as opposed to the rest; this hall was nothing but rows of bedrooms. Yes, it made sense now, all the quiet. The night team was sleeping here, preparing to begin their shift within a few hours. More of the doors were open as she walked farther along the hallway. Some of the beds seemed to have never been touched, their pristine blankets smooth and unruffled, their pillows fluffed up. Others, however, were varying degrees of messy, depending upon their occupant's fastidiousness.

She continued her explorations. The compound itself was absolutely huge; would she ever truely see all of it? It was interesting to see the different items people kept by their bedsides as she walked past the rooms that had been left open. Family portraits seemed to be a favorite. So, oddly enough, were small stuffed toys - were these government beaurocrats or spoiled children? '_Is there a difference?_' she laughed to herself. '_Hmm...? What's this?_'

A new room stood open, but it seemed different. A thick smell, like moist earth, seemed to seep from somewhere within it, masking the sickly-sweet air freshener. Curious, the scent invitingly familiar, she ventured to step in, something she hadn't done with the other rooms. The bed was messy, the sheets twisted, the pillow mashed in the center. A few short, blond hairs littered the pillow, standing out faintly against its stark white.

No, not hair...fur! For there, piled on the other side of the bed in a dirty, stinking lump, was Ratchet's armor. She recognized the room now as the one she'd drug him from before sunrise. Such a small room held the thick smell of his armor, a very distinctive "been on a Lombax too long" smell, tightly, even with the door open. She smiled; the smell, while not familial or homey, was certainly comforting. A clock blinked a red twenty-one thirty-four at her, the blinking millitary time a mockery of the marching beat.

It wasn't late, truely, but it had been a trying day. Being thrown from a hovercar, swimming to shore, trudging through a city, and then attempting to hold her temper in the face of her father's very _annoying_ advisors was not the sort of day she dreamed of. Besides, the smell of Ratchet's armor reminded her of earlier in the day when, still a bit sleepy despite a shower and coffee, she'd rested herself on his shoulder while watching the sunrise. Such a warm smell, like baking sand.

She closed the door and began to look through the tiny closet, trying to find something to use as a nightgown, but settled for an oversized T-shirt. It was probably only a regular, perhaps even slightly small shirt to an ordinary person, but for someone of her size, it was quite loose and baggy, reaching all the way to her knees. She flopped back on the bed and rubbed her eyes, happy to be able to relax and not put up an official, formal exterior. The bed itself, too, smelled of Ratchet, though it was a far fresher smell than that of his armor. She turned over on her side and burried her face in the pillow.

Okay, so the bed was rather flat, to say the least. It wasn't especially soft, either - though it wasn't uncomfortable - and it certainly wasn't fuzzy - unless you counted the small balls of lint. But it smelled of her Lombax, and that was what mattered. She wondered, in a sleepy way, if other species were as affected as her own by their sense of smell. Some lacked muzzles or even visible noses - did they still have a sense of smell? Or were they not priviledged to the small form of comfort brought on by a familiar scent? She didn't know...did it matter? No, it didn't...she was here, she was comfortable, she was sleepy. That was what mattered. She smiled and drifted off, slowly.

A while later, the President went looking for his daughter, wishing to tell her goodnight before turning in himself. When he opened the door, the smell nearly knocked him over. It was so strong! How could she...? Then it hit him: the smell was that of Ratchet, one she must certainly like - or at least tollerate, though the smell of his armor after rotting on the floor for a day wasn't what he'd call pleasant. But then, he had a much larger nose than she, and therefore a much more accute sense of smell. What was strong to him could have been only mildly thick to her. She looked happy and contented, burrowed into the covers as she was. He smiled and whispered, "Goodnight, Sasha," as he closed the door


	7. Chapter 7

Bet you thought this was a dead story, huh? Nope:D

School caught up with me, then I had this stupid episode of depression brought on by a chiropractor (yes, by a chiropractor. You adjust something wrong - or even right, but the body refuses to be "textbook normal" - and you _totally_ screw everything up, including moods), and on top of that...I got major writer's block. So, this took forever. Sorry for that. And sorry if anyone seems out of character. Methinks I need to go replay _Going Commando_...

Yes, this is the chapter in which you finally get to find out who the mysterious woman is (ha, kept you in suspense long enough, haven't I?). And for the record, the name Griltor is a combination of "**g**or**ril**la" and "rap**tor**".

And now for those reader reviews (lots of these to deal with, eh?).  
Midnight Critic: I've never tried the garlic toast + jelly myself; I just randomly threw it together. How'd your "experiment" with it go?  
Missy Mouse: Don't detonate just yet; here's your answer. :D  
lombaxworship: Heh, I finally updated, eh?  
LoonyLombax: keeps writing  
FurrySlaver2000: Five did seem a little focussed on our Cazar, eh? Poor Ratchet. First his backpack steals the spotlight, and then his girlfriend. XD  
Ztarlight: Who were the two people you were guessing it might be? I'd like to know.  
Specter Von Baren: Yeah, I had fun typing that quote, LOL.  
Illu: Reviews are awesome, too. ;)  
Mr. D: And now...you may shout it to the hills, for the secret is out!  
RATCHETFAN: I'm thinking it'll only be about another two chapters, plus an epilogue.  
ratchetfan: And I updated. :D  
Ratchet Fan: Dude, chill. No need to get bent out of shape.  
Mr. D 91: I know, I need to update more. I lose my train of thought after a while, so I have to get back in the mood to write. I need to just finish this little booger up.  
Andrew Snyder: Updated.  
Sarge11: I'll see about it.

* * *

_A while later, the President went looking for his daughter, wishing to tell her goodnight before turning in himself. When he opened the door, the smell nearly knocked him over. It was so strong! How could she...? Then it hit him: the smell was that of Ratchet, one she must certainly like - or at least tollerate, though the smell of his armor after rotting on the floor for a day wasn't what he'd call pleasant. But then, he had a much larger nose than she, and therefore a much more accute sense of smell. What was strong to him could have been only mildly thick to her. She looked happy and contented, burrowed into the covers as she was. He smiled and whispered, "Goodnight, Sasha," as he closed the door._

* * *

Ratchet stared, dumbfounded, at the now-unmasked woman before him. Her blond ponytail, previously tucked within the hood, now hung down her back, shifting with even the slightest turn of her head. Her eyebrows, of a similar shade of brown as his own but much thinner and more feminine, arched quizically, mirroring the small smile on her thin lips. Her eyes, blue and almond-shaped and very nearly like Sasha's, searched his intently. Ratchet spluttered incoherently, then managed, "_Angela_?" 

She frowned at his tone, then lowered her head, nodding. One of the creatures, sensing her downward turn of mood, attempted to nuzzle her arm, but she pushed it away. She looked at Ratchet again, her expression shameful and appologetic.

"But...how...why...you..." He wasn't sure what to ask first. This whole mess...it seemed so out of character for her! "Are you sure you're Angela?"

"Yes, unfortunately," she said, nodding. "Must be pretty confusing, huh? I'm not acting like myself at all." She laughed ruefully. "Well, if you think you're confused, imagine how I feel." Ratchet thought for a moment, then shook his head. If she was more confused than him when he was still feeling the after-effects of a dose of ether, she must have been very confused.

"Why did you...did you..." Ratchet searched for a way to put it in to words.

"Throw away my life?" she supplied. Ratchet, stared at her, shocked. "Don't look so surprised - you know that's what's happened here." She sighed. "MegaCorp would never take me back, and I'm likely to end up in prison. I call that throwing away my life."

"You...quit?" This was more of a surprise to Ratchet than anything. He'd seen how her work was her life. She loved her job at MegaCorp; why in the world would she have quit?

"Well, no..." she began, "but I'd assume they've decided I'm no longer there. I haven't been at work or home for over a week now. As far as the Bogon Galaxy is concerned, I've basically disappeared."

Ratchet blinked. "Why'd you do this, anyway?"

She lowered her head, the insides of her ears showing red through their thinner fur. "I told you... I was jealous. Oh, sure, it didn't start out that way - it actually started with a project I happened to stumble across. I was locking up after work one night, and I happened to notice an open door with a workstation still on..."

* * *

_Flashback_

* * *

_Angela entered the roon, her curiosity piqued by the unusual occurance. Most employees did not leave their doors open or their workstation computers on. Nervous, she peeked over the top of the chair in case the employee was still there working, though most people left long before she did. The chair was empty. She glanced over her shoulder, then sat down. The information on the_

_screen was interesting; she read it in a whisper._

_"MegaCorp Bioweapons Project 34A16_

_This project is classified information. If you're reading this, you're fired."_

_Angela laughed to herself. MegaCorp always liked to include a short, somewhat humorous 'keep out' message on everything except their garbage - and she was beginning to wonder about the trashcans. She continued reading..._

* * *

_End Flashback_

* * *

"It was a file for these creatures." She gestured to the large, yellow bird-apes behind her. "They were meant as a new breed of soldier, something like a counter-measure for the Thugs-4-Less. They were supposed to be front-line ground troops meant to catch the enemy off guard with their strange appearances, since they were from a small planet on the outskirts of the galaxy that not many people visited." She paused, then added, "Somewhat like Veldin used to be, I guess, before all the attacks drew the media." 

"So MegaCorp was using some...whatever those are...and just selling them?"

"No, no...the original Griltors were smaller - probably about half your height, and weren't very smart or agressive. Part of the project was to make them bigger, tougher, more likely to fight than run and hide. That part succeeded fairly well. Perhaps too well; they were impossible to control or issue orders to. MegaCorp was on the verge of throwing out the project when I first discovered it. I'm not sure why Mr. Fizzwidget never told me about it...maybe he assumed I was better at creating pets than biological weapons, though you might could count the Protopet as one before I managed to bring it under control..." she laughed.

"I took some of the extra DNA samples and began to work with it after hours, just to see if I could make them work. A sort of personal challenge." She paused and motioned to one of the creatures, which approached her. "I found that by splicing in short fragments of my own DNA, I could increase their intellegence and obedience. They even seemed to take to me especially well, better than their ordinary caretakers. Interestingly enough, however, I didn't manage to cut one of the strands perfectly, and it added an extra set of claws to their hands. They only have three fingers externally, but internally there are five distinct bone structures. It made them look like a missing link between the tri- and quintidigited species, so I didn't try to change it. Besides..."

Angela trailed off, noticing that Ratchet's eyes had become glazed and unfocused, that same "Out to Lunch, Back when You're done Ranting" look he'd often gotten when she talked about her work. She didn't quite understand how he could be so utterly bored by a subject she found so facinating, then remembered that that, along with her insistance that he call any time he might be even a minute late and her gentle reminders - that he refered to as nagging - to clean up his appartment before she visited (at least put the dirty laundry in a hamper!), were the reason their relationship had ended so quickly.

She coughed, and Ratchet managed to refocus himself at least momentarily. "Am I boring you?"

"Yes, very much so," he replied. His head listed to one side as if he might rest it on one hand were he not tied to the chair.

"I'm sorry," she said, considering attempting to rub behind his ear in an appology, but then deciding against it as she remembered his previously negative reaction to her touching him. "Should I continue?"

"Yeah, go ahead, whatever," Ratchet half-muttered, adding to himself, '_It's not like I can get away or anything. I may as well know what I'm dealing with now,_' as he squirmed a bit in the restraints.

"I guess it was about that time that Mr. Fizzwidget invited me to accompany him to the Solana Galaxy to view the premier of Clank's new movie. At first I declined, but he had the ticket delivered to my home and left 'just in case'. My curiosity got the better of me that time, I suppose, as I eventually decided to go, but in my old Thief suit. Oh, the memories that brought back when I first pulled it out!" She laughed for a moment before continuing in a more somber voice, "That's also when I noticed you and that girl, Sasha." Her voice contained a note of contempt for the Cazar's name, and she had trouble keeping her face from curling into a snarl.

"I was so jealous, Ratchet... I thought I'd gotten over us, but seeing you with someone else..." She lowered her head, her shoulders twitching a few times as she calmed herself. "I could hardly stand it. It was hard to watch the movie at all. I...I...just didn't know what to do. I knew I had to do something, though...

"I decided to make some modifications to my old Thief costume, quite a few changes. I didn't want to be recognized, as myself or as the Thief. I added gravitational stablizers to help with my...balance issues. I even played with the settings on the voice modulator."

Ratchet nodded, at least somewhat interested. "I thought you sounded different."

"Yes, 'different'...I watched so many old movies, trying to get the voice pattern right," she said, her voice now tinged with rueful laughter. "I'm such a mess now, though...I don't really have a life left at MegaCorp, what with being gone for so long, and I'm not going to get off easily. I've stolen government property, destroyed scores of their robotic troops, kidnapped you... They'll probably even try and get me on an attempt on that girl's life - she's the President's daughter, right? - even though she was the one pointing the gun."

Ratchet had to smile at the mental imagine of Sasha wielding a gun. She was an okay shot, but certainly not the type he'd put in a firefight straight away.

"What's so funny? You think me getting in trouble is something to laugh at?" Angela glared at him, and he quickly returned his face to a more neutral possition. She sighed. "You're right, though...it is funny. It's like some bad novel's plot: girl loses guy, girl gets jealous, girl goes to extreme measures..."

Ratchet shook his head slightly, not disagreeing with her, but trying to clear his thoughts. What was he supposed to say? He was tied up, so he couldn't have even touched her shoulder in support. Angela, however, continued her story.

"I didn't really know what I was doing, I don't think. If I had stopped to think it through... But, I was so upset, and so obcessed with my work on the Griltors and my suit and..." Her voice trailed off, but the flicker of her eyes suggested that perhaps she had been obcessed with thoughts of him, too. "By the time I got to Solana, it had already been a week since I'd left Bogon. I almost considered turning around and just going home, but...I didn't. I should have, though."

Ratchet nodded. He certainly couldn't argue with her in that respect.

"I told myself to think of it as a test of the Griltors, to see how they'd do in a real battle. MegaCorp didn't know I'd been working on them; it was all a private endeavor. I...I suppose I wanted to prove to myself that I could make something useful, something more than just a pet, but controllable."

"They work," Ratchet said, remembering the mess he'd found as he'd entered the Phoenix after it had been overrun.

"Yes, they...they do work, don't they?" Angela's face brightened. "I should be happy about that, I guess. But I'm not even going to be out to see the results - I'll either have to go into hiding, or be arrested. Either way, I'll be unable to enjoy it."

They were both quiet for some time, Ratchet not knowing what to do, and Angela contemplating her own fate. Then, deciding to take a chance, Ratchet asked softly, "Would you untie me?"

She looked up, surprised at his voice that had shaken her from her thoughts, and then relaxed. "Sure." The ropes gone, Ratchet, massaged his bare arms and streched his back; he'd been cramped for so long that it popped as he moved. Hearing the sound, Angela winced slightly. "I'm sorry; I left you there for too long. Seems I make a mess of everything, don't I?"

He shrugged and waved it off. "It's nothing. I needed to do that anyway."

A sudden crunching sound came from one of the consoles behind them. Ratchet turned the chair around, and Angela looked over the top of it. "No, you! Get away from that!" One of the Griltors had broken through a control panel and was wreaking havoc upon the wires within, munching them like so many sugar-coated candy worms. Angela jumped over the railing and landed in the lower part of the bridge, preparing to pull the creature off. Before she could touch it, however, it managed to find one of the wires which carried a higher voltage than the others and chomped down on it.

It reared back, then fell on its behind, its hands pawing clumsily at its shocked mouth. Ratchet had to grin at it, though he felt slightly immature in doing so. But the Griltor did have it comming to it. Angela slapped its shoulder - though the hit was hardly enough to phase it - and told it to leave the bridge, which it did meekly, one hand still wiping at its mouth. Ratchet glanced at it as it passed him, then looked at the damaged console. "Let me see what kind of problem it caused. Electricity isn't my thing, but oh well."

However, as he stood up, Ratchet suddenly found himself very dizzy again, still not fully recovered from the effects of the anesthesia. He grabbed onto the chair to steady himself. "Are you okay?" Angela asked as she accended one of the side ramps back to the top level. He nodded and stood up straight again. She studied his face. "You don't look so good. Maybe you should sit back down..."

"No, I'm okay," he said, though his tensed muscles said otherwise. "I'll just...see what's wrong." His first step was slightly wobbly, but after that he seemed all right. Angela lifted a hand as if to catch his shoulder and steady him, but didn't extend her reach. He stopped in front of the console and leaned heavily on his hands, looking at it in less-than-mild confusion. "I...have _no_ idea what it did in here."

Angela rolled her eyes, then became concerned as he slumped into the chair next to himself. Ratchet had _never_ been so out of himself in front of her before. "Are you sure you're okay? It's almost seven; maybe you should turn in."

Ratchet blinked slightly in confusion. He knew he'd been out for a while, but he hadn't figured it to be more than a few hours... Then he realized she was using civilian time. He'd become so accustomed to Sasha's use of millitary time that it took him a moment to revert to the twelve-hour schedule kept by most people. She meant seventeen-hundred hours, _not_ oh-seven-hundred. "Maybe so," he muttered, pushing himself up again.

He stumbled slightly on the upward incline, but managed to keep his balance. Angela moved slightly, intending to offer him support, but he gave her a look which made her think twice. She sighed when he had left the bridge and entered the transport system. '_I suppose he does have a right to be angry with me,_' she thought to herself.

Ratchet paused inside his quarters, looking around. They seemed relatively untouched - even the VG9000 controller with its broken handle was still in the same place. He wondered why the Griltors hadn't decided to come in, then remembered that certain parts of the ship has still had an auto-lockdown on them when it had been invaded. Now, however, the security was down. He thought for a moment, then decided to losen the wires the door so that it wouldn't continually open and close from motion sensativities.

He opened small panel near the door and tugged one wire loose. The lights went out. He mumbled to himself and fumbled to find the place the wire went, shocking himself a few times. He almost felt sorry for the Griltor who'd done it earlier, experiencing it himself. When the lights came back on, however, he noticed another panel, this one containing a holographic display. It turned on as he reached for it, and he realized it was a lock mechanism - why had he never noticed it before? He pushed the virtual buttons in the air, then stepped in front of the door. It didn't open.

Satisfied he wouldn't be walked in on while he was both unarmed and asleep by a wandering creature - or Angela, for that matter - he crawled into one of the sleep pods. Perhaps, in the morning, he'd feel better and he could see about convincing her to let him go. '_Maybe if I ask Sasha to tell her dad to go easy on her_,' he thought. '_Maybe that would help._' His eyes fluttered lazily in half-sleep before he finally settled down.


End file.
